


The Tourney

by Corporate_Blood, Night_Lark



Series: Stannis Baratheon and the most disastrous Small Council in creation [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Archery, Arguing, Crack Treated Semi Seriously, Creepy Ramsay Bolton, Fighting, Implied Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Implied/Referenced Incest, Joffrey Baratheon is a Little Shit, King Robert Baratheon, Minor Violence, Name day celebrations, Name-Calling, Poor Stannis Baratheon, Robert is so drunk, Some Plot, Swearing, Threats of Violence, but in the drabble collection it goes, melee, this is probably too long for a drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25858756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corporate_Blood/pseuds/Corporate_Blood, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Night_Lark/pseuds/Night_Lark
Summary: A mysterious amount of money appears in the coffers which covers the expense of Joffrey's name day tourney.And so the council join in the celebrations! Some more reluctant than others...
Series: Stannis Baratheon and the most disastrous Small Council in creation [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1871917
Kudos: 2





	The Tourney

A few days prior to Joffrey’s name day, said prince had some rather exciting news.

“My name day tourney is going ahead!” He announced, looking rather pleased with himself.

Stannis narrowed his eyes. “And where did you get the coin?” He turned the same look to the others, everyone playing innocent. Including the rather smug looking Euron. “On second thought, I don’t wish to know,” he sighed. Euron flashed the prince a grin.

Joffrey looked to his left and realised Ramsay was looking rather chuffed too. “No bastards are allowed at my tourney,” he growled.

“As a member of the Small Council, I am allowed and even expected to join in with royal festivities,” Ramsay replied, hardly phased. He then lent toward Joffrey, reflecting the blond’s arrogance back at him. “Master of Laws, remember princess?”

Joffrey spluttered with outrage. “I am the PRINCE!” Ramsay just grinned, winding Joffrey up even more. Bronn and Euron found amusement in the squabbling, Qyburn and the Mountain watched on impassively, and Stannis pinched the bridge of his nose to stem off the oncoming headache.

* * *

The tourney arrived much sooner than Stannis would have liked. He, of course, was forced to attend. And so there he sat, to the right of his brother on the royal dais. His expression was as dour as ever, and yet Cersei still managed to look even more bitter. Robert was already drinking like a fish and things had barely begun. Stannis looked around, he might as well be observant in his boredom, and spotted the Queen’s lover standing not too far from her. Jaime’s focus was on the action though Cersei was no doubt in his peripheral at all times. With a sigh, Stannis turned back to face forward, looking out for the other council members.

The Mountain, Euron, and Bronn were all suiting up for the melee.

“You lads wear a lot of fancy gear,” Bronn commented, donning his armour. It was more than he would usually wear but nothing compared to the elaborate Valyrian steel set Euron was decked out in.

“Some of us are rather well travelled,” Euron replied. This was a mild boast by his standards. “Besides, you and I aren’t knights or sers of any kind.”

“Thank the Seven,” Bronn muttered, picking up a sword to test it. He inspected the blade. “Oi, these have been dulled,” he frowned.

Euron picked up a different sword, running a finger down the edge. “So they have,” he said with disappointment.

The Mountain was also displeased. The giant had been looking forward to coating his blade in fresh blood. Euron and Bronn shared a look. Perhaps it was best they weren’t fighting with real weapons after all.

Nevertheless, the trio joined the awaiting knights. There were plenty of young boys with something to prove and they were itching to get going. There were a few more experienced men amongst them and they recognised the Mountain, rightfully cowering from the armoured giant. Bronn tapped the dulled blade against his leg, awaiting the king’s go ahead. It came not a few seconds later and the melee began.

Stannis had a hard time keeping track of Bronn - his dirty tactics meant that his armour became splattered with mud, blending him in with the sea of dull colour. The Mountain made quick work of the competition, many challengers yielding quickly. Euron’s armour flashed constantly as it caught the light, something he used to blind or distract the opposition. Dulled blades clanged off the other. Stannis may loath the council members but he was not allowing them to die, not on his watch. Bronn was unafraid to wrestle with the others, using sellsword tactics to make boys yield. Between the three of them, the competition was quickly thinned out.

Euron was the first to turn, a sword slash aimed for Bronn. The sellsword blocked as he twisted, backing up quickly. They exchanged blows, dancing around the rapidly empting field as Gregor picked off the last few stragglers.

“Whoever wins this spar will have to face the Mountain,” Bronn pointed out wisely, parring a thrust.

“I-” Euron began but the other man cut him off.

“I yield,” Bronn said, bowing out. “Good luck,” he grinned before hastily leaving.

Euron turned, seeing Gregor’s eyes fix on him. Words caught in his throat as the double sided axe the giant wielded smashed into his breastplate. The pirate was sent to the ground from the force. Wheezing slightly, he backed up as best he could to try and escape the Mountain.

“I-I yield,” he choked out. Gregor growled, deeply frustrated, but he accepted Euron’s defeat. Euron scrambled to his feet, also hastily exiting. Bronn had been laughing his ass off on the sidelines, his prize (a nicely sized bag of gold) already in hand. Euron snatched up his prize, a larger bag of gold, and stormed off.

Ramsay and Joffrey had watched the melee and while neither were surprised by the outcome, it was still exciting. Joffrey turned, spotting the quiver of arrows slung across Ramsay’s back.

“You’re doing archery too?” He frowned.

“Problem, princess?” Ramsay asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Says the one dressed in pink,” Joffrey scoffed, pointing to the pink accents on the tunic the Northern wore. Joffrey’s own tunic was red with gold patterning.

Ramsay leaned in, invading the prince’s personal space. “Yes, pink. The same colour of skin after you peel it back a few layers,” he said with a smile that was too wide and toothy. In a flash, he grabs an arrow and jabs it in Joffrey’s face, making the boy jump. Ramsay chuckled, low and dark, before skulking off. A shudder ran through Joffrey but he steels himself. He grabbed his own equipment and walked over to the archery tournament.

Stannis watched as the boys stood side by side, lining up their shots. Joffrey shot first, hitting the target just shy of the bullseye. He immediately turned, puffing his chest with pride, as he sought approval from his father. Robert was otherwise occupied with his cups and missed the shot. Stannis saw Joffrey’s face fall, shoulders slumping.

_Thunk_. Joffrey turned and saw Ramsay’s arrow. It was embedded into the target, the perfect bullseye. Those cold eyes slid over to Joffrey’s arrow.

“Nice shot - for a girl,” he mockingly congratulated.

Joffrey saw red and launched himself at Ramsay, catching the other off guard. The two wrestled on the ground.

Stannis was the first to react, springing up from his seat and rushing down the dais steps. He crossed over to them, Joffrey pounding his small fists on Ramsay’s chest trying desperately to hurt the laughing bastard. Stannis hauled his nephew up, Jaime appearing by his elbow to restrain the prince. Stannis grabbed a hold of Ramsay, pulling the boy to his feet before leading them all away. His grip remained tight on the Bolton’s arm and Ramsay didn’t resist nearly as much as Joffrey did. The blond kicked and screamed but Jaime was able to restrain his son. 

Once in a more secluded spot, Stannis stopped and turned to face the squabbling pair. Disappointment and anger were etched into his features. “If the bloody pair of you can’t behave, you will both be banned from all future tourneys.”

“Ban him!” Joffrey screeched, jabbing a finger at Ramsay. “Bastards aren’t supposed to be here anyway.”

“I will ban _both_ of you, indiscriminately, if you don’t knock it off,” Stannis growled, fixing them both with a glare. If looks could kill, they’d both be dead and they knew it. They both nodded, compliant for now.

“You damaged my armour, you cunt!” Euron shouted, more than loud enough to be heard by Stannis.

“Stay here,” he ordered the boys, leaving them in Jaime’s care while he went to investigate the shouting.

He approached Euron, who was shouting at the Mountain, his words blurring together in anger.

“What now?” Stannis sighed.

Bronn leant against a fence, one that horses would be tied to, and shrugged. “I tried to tell them the melee was over but they wouldn’t go for it.”

Not in the mood for jokes, Stannis just ignored him.

“It’s Valyrian steel straight from Old Valyria!” Euron roared.

“If it were real, maybe it wouldn’t have caved so easily,” The Mountain gruffly said.

Euron’s face went red with rage and this was when Stannis stepped in. “Enough! I’ve already got two children to deal with, I don’t need you fighting as well.”

He then heard more yelling back from where he had left Joffrey and Ramsay. With a roll of the eyes, he turned to glare at the trio. “Behave,” he growled before storming off to deal with the next emergency.

As it turns out, Cersei had taken it upon herself to interject into the situation. Having taken Joffrey’s side, naturally, she was in the middle of a shouting match with Ramsay.

“Your Grace -” Stannis began once in ear shot and was promptly cut off when she rounded on him.

“You’re allowing this boy to speak in such a manner to the Crown Prince?!” She snarled.

“I am addressing them as the Master of Laws and Master of Coin, respectfully. As they are at a royal function -”

“Joffrey’s name day -”

“- They represent the Small Council. _Both_ were behaving inappropriately as council members.”

He could tell by the expression she wore that Cersei didn’t believe Joffrey could ever behave inappropriately. Knowing they would just go round and round in circles, she huffed and stormed off, the other blonds quick to follow. More shouting erupted from Euron and Stannis gave Ramsay a stern look. Knowing better than to argue, the boy trotted after the Hand as they went back over to the trio.

More fighting and bullshit had continued, Bronn doing very little to stop it. If anything his laughter was probably fuelling the flames. Stannis’s arrival, or perhaps his thunderous expression, convinced them to come to an end.

“C’mon, let’s go down the tavern,” Bronn suggested. In something of a foul mood, Euron wordlessly agreed and the pair walked off. Jousting was on next and so the Mountain lumbered away to prepare himself.

“Where the hell is Qyburn?” Stannis asked, turning to Ramsay.

“He was hanging around the melee. But when no one died, he skulked off. I suspect he’ll be hanging around the jousting, plenty of death opportunities there.”

With a sigh, one in which he released all of his frustration and anger, he led Ramsay back to the Red Keep.

* * *

Down at the tavern, Bronn met up with Tyrion and invited him for some drinks. They had a round split between them, Euron disappointed that his drink was not shade of the evening but he drank up anyway.

“Stannis will be furious if he catches you drunk,” Tyrion laughed.

Bronn set down his frothing mug. “Perhaps we should head back then,” he joked. There was a moment’s silence and then they all roared with laughter, cheering before drinking deeply.


End file.
